No matter how hard I tried, I could not skate around the truth. Instead, I looked out my bedroom window and wondered what the world contained for me? Inside, I knew the result of my actions.

I heard the unmistakable sound of my bedroom door open and watched the Sheriff enter the room. Slowly, he walked across the floor and seated himself on the foot of my bed. When he nodded his head, I understood what that signal meant. There was no avoiding the inevitable.

The cooked goose was destined to immediately extract the thin wooden paddle off the top of the five-drawer mahogany dresser the implement laid on and deliver it to the Sheriff. A touch of dread settled over me. I wondered if being spanked by him was going to be more of the same type of beatings I'd received from Earl Anthony Schroder's wrath?

With the paddle in my right hand, I inhaled the deep nervous breath of a condemned prisoner. I felt the implement's smooth surface and saw the imprinted picture on the wooden plank. It consisted of a deer, a black bear, and red lettering. The implication was obvious. I hoped it wouldn't be the case. I exhaled a languid breath and felt all the air rush out my lungs. There would be no possible way to talk my way out of this predicament, nor would I try.

"Be brave," I told myself as I turned to face the Sheriff.

He remained restrained.

At this point, the server delivered our dinner orders. Her name was Geneveire Tuscalero. She was ebony with soft hair the color of brandy. Gweneveire was also a Pre-Med major. I'd seen her in my Forensics class, on those rare occasions when I actually made my presence known and shown up there. Although the possibility presented itself, we hadn't hooked up yet. She hadn't said yes, but I hadn't said no. I'd never tasted delicious sweet chocolate before. Maybe like Baskin-Robbins did with its ice cream, I'd make her the flavor of the month.

Matt and I selected medium-rare flatiron steaks, we enjoyed the marbled meat. For added flavor, portobello mushroom slices adorned the juicy steaks. Marinated, and pan-fried in a cast iron skillet, the steaks sizzled. This method of preparing the steaks allowed them a crusty outside and a moist middle.

Overstuffed, twice-baked potatoes with sour cream, cheese, and bacon, as well as caramelized broccoli, a deep-fried onion appetizer, and Texas toast completed our meal. I thanked Geneveire for her service and would later pay the check for all of us on my Discover card. A healthy tip included.

I asked, "Does anybody need anything else while our server is here?"

Each one of my guests informed me they were okay. Geneveire departed the table. I cut into my steak and continued my story, "In six short steps, I stood beside the Sheriff. He was nonaggressive. There was no furious haranguing from him. This was a situation I was not accustomed to. In circumstances like this before in my past, these confrontations were full of loud turmoil and Earl Anthony Schroder in a blind rage."

Reluctant, I flipped the paddle around in my outstretched hand. A Wile E. Coyote Band-Aid covered a nasty-looking scratch I'd received that ran the length of my right thumb. I had snagged the pollex on a rusty nail a couple days earlier when I built a backyard fort. Tetanus shot here I come! One good thing about it was I did receive a lollipop from Nurse Brenda Billingsly after getting the injection in my deltoid. It was cherry flavored. Fortunately, no stitches were required.

Appropriately printed on the face of the instrument for all the world to see were the words "Heat For The Seat". The emblem of a burning campfire was emblazoned on its handle.

"Will it match the flame I will soon be feeling?" I softly asked myself.

"I'm waiting," the Sheriff calmly said.

The paddle's handle faced him. It wouldn't be long before the repercussions of fighting with Matt were administered. A stern parental expression crossed the Sheriff's face. This too was a response I was not used to. Not from him, any way. The Sheriff noticed my quizzical gaze as I silently attempted to figure his reaction out but said nothing. He knew I'd sized him up.

I handed the paddle to him. The Sheriff grasped the piece of wood tightly in his calloused right hand. I decided it would be better to just get the unpleasentries over with and submitted to my fate. Reaching up from where he sat on the bed, the Sheriff grabbed hold of my left wrist.

Well composed, he instructed me to, "Get down here where you belong, Little Man."

That had became the Sheriff's pet name for me. I liked being called his "Little Man". However, this time I wasn't so sure.

He pulled me over and positioned me face down across his knee. The palms of my small hands rested flat on the floor on the outside of the Sheriff's knee. The toes of my sneakers barely reached the floor on the other side. In the future, this was one position I tried to avoid. I didn't always succeed.

The Sheriff placed a steadying left hand on the middle of my back to balance me in place. He laid the blade of the paddle on the seat of my blue jeans. In anticipation of what was to come, I drew a deep breath.

"Now, Little Man," he began in an unexpected calm demeanor. "I want you to explain why you started that fight with Matt when you got home from school today and then lied about doing so."

Wasn't that a loaded question? I knew the Sheriff expected an answer. The problem was, I could not give him an honest explanation for my actions. Uncomfortable sitting awaited me.

When he raised the paddle, I tensed. As the imminent approached, I knew what goes up must come down. I held my position the best I could. For a brief moment, my mind raced back to another time and place not so long ago. I'd only lived with the Sheriff for two short weeks when he took his feisty troupe of Volunteer Deputy Cadets on an overnight hike. I was made an Honorary Member of the band of marauders for that expedition.